Page 30 of Beautiful Secrets

I have to get out of here before he decides he wants more than just a squeeze.

My toes sink into the thick, pale carpet in the bedroom, thankfully silencing any noise I might have made as I race over it. I am trying my level best to work the knots at my wrists, but there is no time to stop. Cole could be coming out any second.

I hear his voice as I spot the door to the walk-in closet.

“Da.”

I roll my eyes. Trust him to pretend he is Russian or something. Thinks he is a comedian.

A part of the knot at my wrists suddenly comes undone.

Yes!

Relief floods through me as I slip out of the tie. I massage my wrists, grimacing at the pins and needles pricking my fingertips.

Then I stop. Stare. And relief drains away.

There must be ten or more suits hanging in this closet. How the hell am I supposed to know which one he wore yesterday?

“I don’t want your money.” The instant Cole’s muffled growl reaches me, I spring into action.

I yank the first suit along the rail, separating it from the others, and shove my hands in every pocket.

Nothing.

My heart wants to climb out of my throat.

The next suit. The next.

Nothing.Nothing.

I move to the end of the line. Wouldn’t make sense for him to stick the suit he wore yesterday right in the middle. Front or back.

“Iwillkill her.”

My muscles lock up. No, I must have heard wrong.

Move, Mika!

But I can’t. I’m holding my breath in an effort to hear what Cole is saying. He must be talking to my father. Father must have offered him some money. But Cole Hendry doesn’t need the money, does he? He lives in this massive hotel room—and it cannot be cheap. He wears suits that are so silky to touch, and buys ridiculous breakfasts for just two people, and then leaves it to go cold.

No, money is the last thing on his mind.

Cole’s voice drops low. I struggle to hear what he says.

“…pretty little…toes…chopping off first?”

Bile shoots up my throat.

Chyort!

My hands shake as I ransack the suit. I find a receipt scrunched up in one pocket. A lighter in another. But no passport, no money, no elevator key.

Why has he stopped talking? At least when I could hear his voice, I could keep track. Knew he was still in the bathroom.

My chest is so tight, it feels like I will never have enough strength to pull in another breath.

The intercom.